


lose your head (give in)

by extasiswings



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: (well mostly), Cunnilingus, F/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Timeless Fanfic Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 13:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11760654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: For the August Timeless Fanfic Contest. Prompt: Sex Pollen.She's hot—that's the first thing Lucy notices when she wakes up to Flynn gently shaking her shoulder. The second is that her mouth is dry and there's a sickly sweet taste lingering on her tongue, as if she's been eating pixie sticks or some other powdery candy."Lucy—"The third is that she really, really wants to kiss him.





	lose your head (give in)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so slightly nontraditional for sex pollen because Flynn and Wyatt took offense to even the possibility that they might be taking advantage of Lucy. As a result, there is sex pollen. There is sex. There is not, however, sex _because of_ the sex pollen. Hope that works ;)

So close. They come so close—so close to stealing back the Mothership, to at least removing Emma Whitmore as a major cog in the machine that is Rittenhouse. For once, they hadn't even needed to travel into the past, just locate the underground facility Rittenhouse had been using as a home base. 

Well. "Just." As if it hadn't taken months to track down. Months of work that goes up, quite literally, in a puff of smoke. Specifically, a puff of bright pink smoke that bursts from a small round canister Emma throws over her shoulder as she runs away. Flynn and Wyatt manage to avoid it, but Lucy catches it right in the face and sneezes. 

"Lucy!" Both of them shout her name as the smoke begins to clear, leaving her skin feeling tight, nerve endings prickling strangely. When Lucy touches her face, her fingers come away coated in a filmy residue, not unlike the pollen one might rub off if they touched the inside of a flower. 

Strange...

"Lucy, are you okay?" Wyatt's voice sounds oddly distant for a moment, as if she's underwater and he's calling from the shoreline. But when she blinks, the feeling passes. 

"I think so," Lucy replies, closing her eyes to wipe her face with her sleeve. Dammit, she'd liked this blouse. "Whatever that was may have just been meant to distract us. I don't think it was poison at any rate." 

"Well, it worked. She's gone," Flynn says with a nod down the hall to where the Mothership is no longer docked. 

Wyatt swears under his breath and Lucy feels like doing the same. 

"Next time," she sighs instead. "We'll finish this next time."

It's a half mile walk back to the van where Rufus is monitoring their frequencies—with Jiya still not quite up to piloting the Lifeboat again, they hadn't wanted to risk him. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as he gives Lucy a once-over, taking in her newly stained appearance. 

"Uh...was there a paintball match I missed?"

Lucy grimaces. "Something like that. Can we get home so I can shower?"

"Emma?" He asks, looking at Wyatt and Flynn. 

Flynn's jaw clenches and he shakes his head. 

"Well, fuck."

Indeed. 

Lucy sleeps lightly for most of the drive home, Wyatt's voice drifting in and out of her consciousness as he explains what happened to Rufus. Next to her, Flynn is stiff in the seat, fists clenching and unclenching by turns. At one point, she's just awake and bold enough to cover one of his hands with hers—he starts, his eyes darting to meet her own half-open ones, but he does relax a fraction, and ultimately squeezes her fingers so quickly and lightly that she’s not entirely positive she isn’t imagining things. 

That's the last thing she remembers before they stop.

* * *

She's hot—that's the first thing Lucy notices when she wakes up to Flynn gently shaking her shoulder. The second is that her mouth is dry and there's a sickly sweet taste lingering on her tongue, as if she's been eating pixie sticks or some other powdery candy. 

"Lucy—"

The third is that she really, really wants to kiss him.

(This is nothing new. She’s wanted to kiss Flynn for a while. Maybe since 1780. _Definitely_ since they’d gotten back from 1954. The way he’d looked at her then, light and heat in his gaze as his tongue swept over his lips—it had felt like an invitation. One that she would have gladly accepted if they hadn’t been interrupted. Alas)

Flynn clears his throat and Lucy realizes she’s been staring at his mouth. Her cheeks flush hotter as she drops her gaze, fiddling with the button of her seatbelt so she can get out and go shower as she’d planned—

It’s stuck.

Lucy tugs at the belt once, twice, and then freezes when Flynn reaches across her and presses down hard enough on the button that it unsticks. Without thinking, she catches his shirt before he can pull away. This close he dwarfs her more than ever, his arms, his shoulders caging her in against the seat. This close she can’t miss the scent of him—gunpowder and smoke and something woodsy as well underneath it all. This close she’s all too aware of the hint of stubble across his jaw, of the way his throat works when he swallows.

This close, he can’t hide the flicker of desire in his eyes before concern wins out.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Flynn asks. His voice scrapes across her skin, makes her blood sing in her veins. Christ, she feels drunk—too warm, too dizzy, completely unable to remind herself why giving into this unshakable _need_ would be a Very Bad Idea.

“I want—I—” Lucy trips over her own tongue, half-formed words vanishing before she can say them.

Flynn lifts his hand, pausing in the air beside her neck before making contact. Slowly, gently, his thumb passes over a lingering smear of pink residue on her skin. Her pulse leaps, her body _burns_. There’s a whine trapped between her back teeth that she can’t let go.

“Lucy. What’s wrong? What can I do?”

_Fuck it._

Without a word, Lucy fists her hands tighter in his shirt, tugs him in closer, and kisses him. 

For an instant, it’s perfect. Awkward as the angle may be, Flynn’s chest is a solid wall against hers. His lips are soft and warm and they part for her tongue when it passes over the seam—the heat of his mouth, the slide of his tongue against hers makes her shiver. 

And then, in the next moment, he pushes her away, his hands gentle but firm on her shoulders. 

“You’re burning up,” Flynn points out, his voice rougher than before.

“I know,” Lucy sighs, releasing his shirt but trying to sway closer again anyway. “I want—”

“No,” he interrupts, shifting away and opening the door of the van on his side. “You have a _fever_.” 

“Garcia—” 

Flynn steps out of the van and Lucy closes her eyes and lets her head fall back against the seat. The heat, the dizziness, the need hasn’t subsided at all. If anything, it’s worse.

The door opening on her side shocks her out of her reverie. 

_Wyatt._

“Hey, Luce,” he says carefully. Over his shoulder, Lucy can see Flynn standing a few feet away, an unreadable expression on his face. “Need some help?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathes, reaching out a hand. She bites her lip when his skin touches hers, the contact sending a fresh pulse of heat through her. 

Wyatt helps her out of the van, but as soon as her feet touch the ground, she falls into him.

“Easy there,” he says, his free hand practically a brand through her blouse when it comes up to her waist to steady her. 

“I told you,” Flynn says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s _wrong_ ,” Lucy denies, suppressing a shiver when her eyes drop to Wyatt’s mouth. Him, she’s kissed before. But that had been a ruse, a cover, and she’d been so surprised that she hadn’t really gotten to enjoy it. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” she adds, leaning in just enough to kiss Wyatt as well. His hand flexes on her waist as he inhales sharply at the touch of her lips before pushing her away just as Flynn had.

“Lucy—”

“Do you believe me now?” Flynn asks. 

Wyatt clears his throat roughly and nods. “We should, uh, get her to bed.”

The suggestion crashes into her like a sledgehammer, a low moan escaping her throat as her mind runs wild with images. _Wyatt, stripping off her blouse and setting his teeth to her neck—Flynn, rucking her skirt up around her waist and sliding his fingers into her—hands, mouths, teeth, skin, sweat, heat—_

Oh, god, she wants it. She wants _them_.

“That’s a great idea,” Lucy agrees, eyeing his lips again before meeting Flynn’s gaze over his shoulder. “Take me to bed.”

Flynn’s jaw clenches and he rolls his eyes heavenward. “To _sleep_ ,” he clarifies. “Alone.” 

In the back of her mind there’s the smallest whisper that he’s right, that she shouldn’t be doing this right now, that this isn’t normal and there really is something off. But it’s not as though she hasn’t wanted both of them before, not as though she hasn’t dreamed about taking one or the other or both of them to bed. 

Lucy steps back from Wyatt and crosses the gap between them and Flynn. There’s a hint of pink on his collar and his neck from where he had been pressed against her earlier, and her gaze tracks up from there, over his neck and jaw, to meet his eyes again. They’re wary and concerned, but also dark with desire in a way that makes her stomach twist. 

He doesn’t reach for her when she touches his chest, slipping her hands up until her arms can twine around his neck—no, he’s stiff as a board, his hands tense by his side. 

“Please,” she murmurs, lifting onto her toes so she can almost reach his lips. “Garcia, please.”

_Touch me. Take me._

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Flynn says, more gently than she would have expected from him.

“I know that I want you,” Lucy replies. “Both of you.”

Wyatt coughs from behind her and tentatively loops an arm around her waist.

“We can talk about that later,” he allows. “When you’re feeling better.”

“I told you I’m _fine_ —” A sudden wave of dizziness makes her knees buckle, and Wyatt loops his other arm under her knees to lift her. 

“You’ve got her?” Flynn asks.

“Yeah, I’ve got her.”

Lucy presses her face against Wyatt’s neck, unable to resist feathering her lips over his pulse point. But it doesn’t seem to faze him—in no time at all they’ve reached her door and he sets her down again. 

“Are you going to be okay by yourself?” Wyatt asks. Behind him, Flynn’s quiet.

“I’d be better if you stayed,” she replies, the implication heavy on her tongue. 

“Right.” He reaches around her and opens the door before pushing her carefully back through it. “We’ll be out here. You should shower. And get some sleep.”

And then the door closes and a lock clicks from the outside. 

Lucy wants to scream, wants to cry, can feel the frustration burning her eyes as the sting of rejection cuts through the dizzying heat that’s still making her head swim. 

_Fuck._

It’s not until she’s in the shower, the blast of the water as frigid as she can get it, every last trace of the pink residue scrubbed away that the heat, the need, finally begins to subside. And then she’s just exhausted. 

Lucy falls into bed half an hour after she originally got to her room and is dreaming almost as soon as her head hits the pillow.

* * *

Outside, Wyatt and Flynn both lean heavily against the wall on their respective sides of the door, listening carefully until they hear the shower turn on. 

Wyatt breaks the uncomfortable silence first. “So, that...happened.”

Flynn rubs a hand roughly over his face and rakes it through his hair, tension vibrating through him. “What a fucking mess,” he sighs.

“Not exactly the way I wanted to kiss her again,” Wyatt admits. 

“Not the way I wanted to kiss her at all.”

Wyatt swallows hard and glances between Flynn and the closed door. “Do you think she’s going to be okay?”

Flynn nods, rubbing at the residue on his thumb. “I don’t think it’s poisonous, whatever this is. Probably some sort of temporary libido enhancement.”

“If it’s on you, why isn’t it having the same effect?” Wyatt asks.

When Flynn meets his gaze, it’s as though he’s dropped a mask, desire flaring hot in his eyes. Wyatt flushes under the stare, wetting his lips on instinct. 

“Oh.”

“Yes,” Flynn acknowledges tersely. 

“Should you—uh, maybe you should go shower as well?” Wyatt suggests. Flynn glares.

“Worried I’m going to jump you, Logan?”

_More like worried I might want you to,_ he thinks. 

Flynn glances down at Wyatt’s mouth and then swears under his breath before turning on his heel and stalking off down the hall. 

Wyatt lets out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding and knocks his head against the wall, pushing aside his own less than comfortable state of current attraction as he listens to the shower in Lucy’s bathroom, feeling no small amount of relief when the water eventually shuts off and he can hear her footsteps and the slight creak of the mattress when she settles into bed. After another few moments, he unlocks the door and peeks in, equally relieved to see the slow rise and fall of Lucy’s chest as she sleeps. 

_Okay. Okay, she’ll be fine. She’ll be fine._

_We’ll all be fine._

He ends up on the floor just inside the room so he can keep an eye on Lucy, just to make sure she doesn’t suddenly stop breathing in the night. A few minutes later, Flynn rejoins him, his hair damp, the clean shirt he’d changed into clinging to his chest in the most distracting fashion.

“Feeling better?” Wyatt asks.

“Better enough.”

The silence is maddening.

“Do you—” He cuts himself off immediately, thinking better of it.

“Do I, what?” Flynn replies in a tone that implies he’s not likely to just let it drop if Wyatt brushes it off.

Wyatt sighs. “Do you think she’ll be upset with us?”

“I doubt it. But if she is, I’d much rather she be upset with us for _not_ sleeping with her than the alternative.”

Right. No, he’s definitely right. 

Wyatt clears his throat and cuts his eyes to Flynn for a moment before looking back to the bed.

“You know, for the record I wouldn’t be entirely opposed to—well—uh—”

Flynn smirks. “If you can’t say the word, you shouldn’t be doing the deed.”

“A _threesome_ ,” Wyatt shoots back. “I can say it just fine.”

Flynn hums in acknowledgement, but when Wyatt glances over his eyes are on Lucy, his hands folded behind his head where he’s leaning back against the wall. Eventually, just as Wyatt’s eyes start to grow heavy, he says, “For the record, neither would I.”

It’s a long night.

* * *

Lucy wakes up in the morning bleary-eyed, her head pounding as if she’d tossed back ten shots of tequila the night before. Gingerly, she slips out of bed and pads over to the bathroom, taking the time to brush her teeth after she snags some painkillers from the cabinet. When she comes back to the bedroom, she stops at the picture she had missed before. 

Wyatt and Flynn are asleep on the floor by the open door and Lucy squints at them for a moment before everything rushes back in all too perfect clarity.

_Oh, god._

_”That’s a great idea. Take me to bed.”_

_”I know that I want you. Both of you.”_

Her face burns and she covers her cheeks with her hands. What must they think of her?

“That you were drugged,” Flynn says quietly, and Lucy realizes she must have said that last thought aloud. “Stranger things have happened. It’s fine.”

The guarded look on his face tells her that if she wants to write it off as just that, he’ll let it go and never bring it up again. And it would be easy. To laugh it off, to pretend it really was just the drug. 

But...that would be a lie. And it would be a lie that would more likely than not preclude any chance of a future where kissing him might happen again. With that thought in mind, Lucy bites her lip and shakes her head.

“I meant what I said last night,” she admits, even as her face flushes deeper. “I wanted to kiss you. I wanted—I want—you. And Wyatt. But, yes, um, that...wasn’t a lie.”

“Well, that’s good to know.” Lucy starts when Wyatt speaks up from his own place by the door, his blue eyes heavy-lidded but still clearly aware. 

“It—it is?”

He hums and glances over to Flynn who still has the same guarded expression.

“It is,” he acknowledges. “Especially since we both want you too.”

Heat spreads through her for an entirely different reason at that, echoing the desperate arousal she’d felt the night before, but leaving her head clear. She considers for a moment, glances between the two of them, and then clears her throat.

“Well then,” Lucy says. “In that case, you should really shut the door.”

Wyatt’s mouth curves, a wicked thing that drips with promise and makes her stomach flip.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls, voice dropping low enough that she shivers. 

Flynn’s off the floor and across the room as soon as the handle clicks, his mouth hot and hard against hers, his hands skimming freely over her waist, her hips, her breasts, anywhere he can reach. 

“Do you have any idea,” he growls between kisses, “how badly I wanted to touch you last night?”

His hands slip under the hem of her sleep shirt and slide it up and over her head, leaving her torso bare for his attention.

“You can touch me now,” Lucy replies, pushing him back towards the bed until his knees hit the edge. She doesn’t waste time—she straddles his hips when he falls back onto the mattress, her breath catching when she grinds against the growing hardness in his sweats. 

Wyatt's fingers on her spine are a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. She sighs and arches into the touch, inspiring Flynn to take advantage of the position and cup her breasts. 

"Nice of you to join us, Logan," Flynn says. "For a minute there I thought you were going to leave all the hard work to me."

"Not that watching wouldn't hold its own appeals, but no," Wyatt replies. 

"And," he adds, "for the record, its only hard work if you aren't doing it right."

Flynn rolls his eyes. "It's a figure of speech."

"You know," Lucy interrupts, raising an eyebrow as she looks between them, "when I thought about this in the past I really didn't expect there to be so much talking."

Flynn muffles a laugh and Wyatt bites off a grin, leaning in and nipping at the juncture of her neck and shoulder before asking, "Is there something else you'd like me to be doing with my mouth?" 

"Well, if you're offering..." Lucy gasps when Flynn rolls a nipple between his thumb and forefinger as Wyatt slips a hand into the front of her sleep shorts. His breath fans over her neck as he chuckles, his fingers delving into the slickness of her folds. 

"Wet for us already, Luce?" He teases. "That was fast."

"I don't think it counts if I've been wet since last night," she shoots back, her nails biting into Flynn's shoulders as Wyatt circles a finger around her clit. "You'll still have to— _ah_ —try harder next time."

"I seem to recall the lady saying something about better uses of your mouth," Flynn interjects, rolling his hips up against Lucy's as Wyatt withdraws his hand. "Before you interrupted her."

"I didn't hear her objecting to the interruption," Wyatt replies. "Although, hey, you could always put your mouth to better use too."

Lucy sees the moment Flynn accepts that challenge, his lips curving into a smirk the instant before his hands fall to her hips and he flips the two of them, tugging her shorts down and off in one swift movement. Her head falls back as his mouth finds her jaw, trailing kisses along the edge of it and then down her neck. 

Flynn takes his time—laving his tongue over her collarbones, stiffening her nipples to taught peaks with soft kisses and scrapes of teeth, sucking marks into her skin—by the time he reaches her stomach, Wyatt huffs and climbs onto the bed next to them so he can at least kiss her lips. 

“A woman could fall asleep waiting for you to get to the point,” he remarks to Flynn. For once, the other man doesn’t respond with words, merely raises a middle finger and dips his tongue into the crease of Lucy’s hip, dragging a low moan from her throat.

For a moment, Lucy thinks Flynn might continue his path elsewhere—maybe down her thighs, seeking out sensitive patches behind her knees—but it’s a relief when he presses a single kiss to the curls at her center and then licks a firm stripe through her folds. 

“Flynn!”

He pulls back enough to nip at her inner thigh and look up at her with dark eyes. 

“You used my first name last night,” he points out. “You should say it again.”

Lucy shivers and lets her eyes flutter closed as Wyatt’s hands caress her breasts as he sucks a mark of his own over her pulse.

“Garcia,” she whispers, arching her hips against his mouth. “God, don’t stop.”

He answers with two fingers, spreading her, stroking into her, curling and pressing up into that spot that never fails to make her cry out just as he curls his tongue around her clit. 

It’s too much—between him and Wyatt, it takes no time at all to bring her to the edge. 

“Are you going to come for us, sweetheart?” Wyatt murmurs in her ear as she hangs suspended over the edge of that cliff by a line of tension that’s curling tighter and tighter every moment. Lucy bites her lip nearly hard enough to draw blood and nods.

“Is this what you wanted last night?” He asks, snaking a hand between them to rub her clit when Flynn shifts away from it. “Or maybe you wanted something else…”

Lucy keens and twists her fingers into the sheets above her head. “Wanted—oh, god—wanted you to fuck me,” she breathes. “I still—fuck, _please_ , I need—”

Wyatt kisses her and the tension snaps—she’s falling and floating and flying all at once, pleasure sending shocks through her muscles, her blood, her bones—all while on either side, she’s anchored by the two familiar forms that keep her from falling apart at the seams. 

Lucy comes back to herself with Wyatt pressing soft kisses to her neck and Flynn doing the same to her inner thighs. Reaching down, she twists her fingers in the shoulder of Flynn’s shirt and tugs.

“Off—I want this—how are both of you still dressed, that’s just ridiculous—”

Both of them laugh and pull away for just long enough to strip. As soon as Flynn gets close enough, Lucy pushes him onto his back and kisses him thoroughly. Wyatt does the same once she pulls away—to her knowledge it’s the first time the two men have kissed, but there’s no hesitation to it—it’s fierce and filthy and it only breaks when Lucy reaches out and takes Flynn’s cock in hand.

He swears against Wyatt’s mouth and turns to watch her with pupils blown wide. With her eyes on his, Lucy straddles him as she had before. 

“Is this okay?” She asks, suddenly the slightest bit unsure. “I want—can I—”

“Yes,” Flynn groans, rocking into her light touch. “Anything.”

Lucy shifts enough to center herself over him, then sinks down, a moan escaping her at the stretch. Wyatt swears the first time she rolls her hips, taking himself in hand as Flynn’s hands settle on her waist.

She doesn’t know how long she spends riding him—long enough to feel a pleasant burn in her thighs, long enough to stoke the fire the had been dulled by her previous climax and build it back up to a roaring flame. What she does know is that she could easily become addicted to Garcia Flynn’s body and Wyatt Logan’s mouth, and she can’t quite think of a reason why she shouldn’t. 

When she comes again, so does Flynn, unable to hold back any longer. Wyatt spills into his hand a moment later with another low curse.

After a few moments of quiet silence where all of them catch their breath, it’s Wyatt who breaks it.

“So...what exactly—I mean, what are we…” 

And it’s Flynn who answers him, wrapping a hand around Wyatt’s wrist and tugging him closer into the tangle of their limbs. 

“Go to sleep, Logan,” he says, but the words are tinged with slightly more affection than usual. “Enjoy the afterglow. We’ll figure it out.”

Lucy hums in agreement and tucks her face against Flynn’s neck, sighing when Wyatt wraps an arm around her waist.

_We’ll figure it out._

(And they do)


End file.
